His expression turned serious. "So you came to France to engage his services and to appeal to his masculine nature in the hope of a marriage proposal?"
"Yes. I do, however, expect to pay him for helping me with my … situation, which is more pressing at the moment." She fidgeted, looking totally embarrassed. "And I expect nothing in return if he's not interested in me as a woman."
At any other time, with anyone else, the conversation would have been laughable, and he would have been annoyed at such audacity. But she was just so ardent and determined in expression and voice that Jonathan couldn't help but feel a growing warmth inside, an understanding of risks and unfulfilled dreams, of wishes and pleasures beyond reach. Natalie Haislett, the innocent romantic, slyly put her reputation and future in his hands, and instead of feeling outraged at the deceit, the entire adventure filled him with an unusual blend of excitement and tenderness.
A silence, intimate and comforting, rose between them. There was nobody around, nothing to be heard but gently cresting waves as they splashed against the cliffs, and an occasional squawking gull. The sun had finally set below water, and the horizon glowed with hues of rose, coral, and striking blue.
Jonathan stared at her, lingeringly now, watching as the delicate ocean wind lifted wayward strands of sun-warmed hair, taking notice of her finely shaped, slightly upturned nose, her smooth, flawless complexion, and thick, curling lashes as they formed dark crescents upon her brows and high cheekbones. Her mouth was perfectly sculpted, full and red and deliciously inviting as ripened strawberries on the vine. Her chin and jaw were well defined yet feminine, tapering softly to a long, elegant throat where he could see her pulse beating rhythmically. He'd never looked at her features individually before, and taken separately they were fairly unremarkable. As a whole, her face possessed a rare and exquisite quality, wherewith he knew without question the finest painter in the world could never begin to do justice.
"Do you ever think about marriage, Jonathan?"
The words cut through the stillness, his thoughts, and the quavering manner in which she spoke unsettled him a little. "I do. At least I have recently," he answered without pretense.
She drew a long, slow breath and glanced down to her hands now clutched together in her lap. "Would you give up your mistresses for a wife?"
He had no idea where her thoughts were leading, but the sudden turn in conversation made him smile. As did her timid curiosity.
He reached for the hem of her gown and ran it through his fingers. "Truthfully, I haven't considered marriage and all its life changes that closely. But I hope"—he dropped his voice to an intimate whisper—"that my wife will be so desirous of satisfying me in every way I won't need one."
"But you can't say for sure you'd give them up," she pressed, color once again creeping into her cheeks.
He frowned. "I can't say for sure I've given it much thought."
"I see."
He had no idea what to say.
Another silence ensued until she murmured, "I think, Jonathan, that a wife will find you pleasing in so many ways she will do all she can to keep you and make you happy." Dauntlessly she added, "And I think she will remain faithful to your needs if you remain faithful to your vows."
He stared at her, then grinned through narrowed eyes. "You find me that appealing, Natalie?"
She looked back to him with vivid candor. "We aren't talking about me, we're talking about you. I'm advising you as a woman to a friend."
"Ahh…" He shifted his weight on the blanket, leaning close enough to see the light dusting of freckles on her nose. "Then you think prospective wives will find me appealing?"
Her brows lifted minutely. "Don't women usually?"
He smiled fully at that. She was enjoying herself, at ease with him again. In a very unusual sense, he found the moment sublime like no other he'd experienced in a long time.
Without a second thought, he reached up and touched her hair, lightly, with only his fingertips, as it fell over her left arm. Her smile faded, but she didn't turn or pull away.
"I want you to find me appealing," he revealed quietly, his eyes grazing her face.
She straightened in an unsuccessful attempt to keep the conversation perfunctory. "I find you exceptionally so, Jonathan, but that hardly matters. I must stay true to my convictions. I won't ever be your mistress, therefore nothing—"
"I want to kiss you," he cut in softly.
Her eyes grew wide with either shock or fear, he wasn't sure which. But she didn't say no; she didn't do anything.
"Just a kiss, Natalie."
"But we're friends," she insisted in a confused, wavering voice.
The passionate comment struck him oddly. "Yes, I think we are, and I don't intend to spoil that."
He reached forward and touched her bottom lip with his thumb, and the fact that she didn't pull away in disgust or anger sent a jolt of encouragement and desire through the center of him.
"I won't ever be your mistress," she repeated, her resolve breaking.
"I will never take you as my mistress," he promised in a deep whisper. Then as an indescribable anxiousness filled him, he leaned his head toward her and placed his lips on hers.
Natalie closed her eyes, her body unmoving. Of all the mistakes she'd made in her life, this one would likely be the greatest. But even with a thousand voices of warning screaming within her, she just couldn't pull away. There was really no harm in a little kiss, and he at least had the decency to request before taking. He was just so powerfully attractive and inviting she had trouble saying no. And she desired him beyond question. She always had, and she hoped against hope that he wouldn't realize it from this simple kiss between friends. But everything else aside, she wanted to feel and feel now, to be kissed by the most physically handsome man she had ever known, by the sea in an exotic land, under the purple and golden hue of the setting sun. How marvelous and exciting.
Pressing his lips against hers, he reached around with his hand and grasped the back of her head, holding her a little closer. His mouth started a slow movement of softness, and Natalie relaxed as the expected pleasure began to build. She was used to it now, not afraid as she'd been before. They were quite alone, and she gave in to the enjoyment of the moment. Trusting him.
He began to stroke her hair with his fingers but he didn't pull back from the kiss. If anything, he deepened it a bit, his tongue playing delicately against her closed lips, back and forth, until she opened them faintly. She had to admit she was kissing him back now, and it was obvious by a small husky sigh that he liked it. That pleased her, and out of instinct more than knowledge, sitting side by side, hands still in her lap, she turned toward him and leaned her body very slightly into his.
Within seconds he pulled the ribbon from her hair, and strands of it lifted in the breeze to touch her neck, his face. He ran his fingers through it, cupping her head, holding it fully now as he intensified the kiss. He still wasn't possessive or demanding, being quite gentlemanly in his endeavor, and with that thought reason escaped her, and she let herself go, breath quickening, heartbeat increasing with anticipation. She raised her hand to feel the hardness of his chest through his soft linen shirt, just lightly touching him with hesitant fingers.
He reacted immediately, lifting his free hand and closing it over her knuckles to hold her firmly against him. He was breathing heavily now, his heart beating strongly beneath her palm, and Natalie took an instant raw delight in affecting him so.
She opened a little more for him, and his tongue grazed her lips, sending sudden shock waves through her body. She jolted in reaction, but he held to her, expecting it, making it impossible for her to pull away.
She could feel the tension surrounding them like a physical thing, smell the moist salty air, hear the waves pounding the rocks below, echoing like thunder in the cove beyond. His hard body felt hot against her now, numbing yet comforting, familiar yet strangely new and exciting. He was treating her deliciously, like a fine china dol
l in his possession, and she wanted more with a sudden, burning ache. It was just a kiss, but so wonderful and perfect.
She reached for him then, gliding her hands along his chest and shoulders until she clasped his neck. He in turn wrapped his arms around her willingly, holding her even closer, nearer now to a full embrace. She opened her mouth completely, and quite by accident the tip of his tongue flicked hers. At any other time, with anyone else, she might have found that revolting. Now she relished in the tingling sharpness within her, whimpering involuntarily from the pleasure of it.
He groaned and did it again, this time with intention, and in a rush of memory, Natalie remembered he'd done that before to her, in a moment of surrendering passion. But she couldn't think about that time. Not now.
In a slow but purposeful motion, he pushed her back to lie flat on the blanket, his mouth still clinging to hers, moving in slow, blissful form, his tongue invading her intimately. He rested his body beside her, his hands in her hair, but he didn't stop kissing her, just continued as he was until she began to feel restless.
Natalie didn't understand it. On the farthest edge of sanity she yelled for him to stop, that it was enough. But it wasn't. And the purely physical side of her wanted it to go on forever.
Then, as if comprehending the ache more than she, in a most gentle touch, he placed his palm on her breast. She didn't notice the faint contact at first until his thumb moved across her nipple in one stroke to cause an exquisite stab of pleasure deep within. She gasped against his lips, but he refused to release her mouth. He kissed her fully now, almost relentlessly, as his hand moved to her waist to hold her there should she decide to run. But she couldn't. Not yet.
Losing sight of the inevitable outcome of their actions, Natalie finally surrendered. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her, her fingers in his thick, silky hair, his broad chest grazing her breasts, his leg folding over hers in one smooth movement.
He groaned again, coming alive with eagerness as she responded to the magnificent torment building within her. He desired her with incredible passion, and that knowledge was a sort of dim power she possessed and refused to relinquish. This was what she'd wanted for years.
He released her mouth at last to begin a trail of fine kisses on her cheek, down her jaw and neck. She leaned back instinctively to allow him access, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, hands holding his head tightly against her in sudden, desperate fear that he might stop. She squirmed and whimpered faintly when his hand found her breast again, urgent in his approach this time, as he began to knead it softly over her blouse, his thumb and finger playing expertly until her nipple hardened to the touch.
He shuddered, his breath coming fast and heavy, and still she clung to him with a wildness she couldn't have imagined of herself only moments before. Being touched like this was exhilarating, a far-extending abandonment.
She was only vaguely aware that he lifted her blouse to reach beneath it, slowly running his palm along her thin chemise, caressing her waist, her ribs, in soft sensuous strokes. Instinctively she lifted her body to him, her hands now on his shoulders as he quite suddenly placed his face between her breasts, still over her blouse, but in such a manner that it shot a powerful shock of raging fire between her legs.
She gasped his name aloud, and he groaned deeply in his chest as he caressed her nipples through only two sheer layers of fabric, back and forth, with his cheek, his chin, his lips. He touched her face with one palm, his thumb on her mouth, and with the other he found the waiting peak of her nipple, circling it over and over with his fingers. He still hadn't touched her skin to skin, with full intimacy, and yet the affect was complete, staggering, and so entirely satisfying at the same time.
Then he was kissing her again, fully and hungrily, with no pretense, and she responded, aching with needs untouched, squirming beneath him, her leg rubbing the length of his with wild abandon.
But he wouldn't let her go. He clung to her, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, his hips slowly beginning to stroke hers as his own acutely felt needs surfaced. He ran his tongue along her lips, his free hand starting a trace down her leg, fingertips grazing the outline with purpose.
She whimpered softly, writhing with a soaring recklessness she didn't understand, holding his face in her palms.
"Oh, God," he whispered against her mouth.
She held him tighter, in desperation to feel, to know, to put an end to the longing.
As if in answer, she felt his palm against her thigh.
"Jonathan—"
"I know."
She pulled at him frantically, her hips lifting to meet the hardness of his, eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding, blood rushing through her veins, throbbing in her ears, drowning all sound.
Then she felt the first very timid contact of his hand between her legs—only one thin piece of linen between his warm skin and the most private part of her. She wasn't certain of it at first because he made no movement. And then there could be no mistake. His intentions were clear, and she arched her back from the instantly sharp sensation.
But he kissed her so deeply, so totally, she lost control, couldn't see the end beyond the action. He placed his left palm against her forehead, fingers weaving through her hair, and with the other he began to stroke her, gently but expertly, not moving the fabric of her clothing away, but leaving it to cover her, the rhythm on top of it, first one finger, then another, then all of them.
Natalie's breath caught in her chest. She couldn't think. Could only feel. Could only react. He was doing something so intimate to her, and yet she couldn't voice a thought or protest because she wanted him like this beyond anything. She gripped his shoulders with rigid hands, aching with need, now moving her hips against his fingers rhythmically as he increased the speed.
He released her mouth, dropping his lips to her neck, then moving his face to her hair. A raspy breath escaped him as he ran his tongue along her ear, grazing the lobe, teasing it, sucking it.
Her legs moved wildly, her body uncontrollably, as she became oblivious to all but his touch at the center of her. She moaned in a feverish surrender, and he silently, relentlessly pursued, placing small kisses on her cheeks and jaw and throat, stroking her, taking her to the ends of the earth.
Suddenly she clutched him tightly. Her eyes flew open, and he lifted his head to look down at her in concentration. And then it happened. Intense and incredible, she exploded within, crying out in wonder, in bliss, at the perfect end to a radiant hunger.
Jonathan swallowed with difficulty, his breathing harsh as he continued to control himself, staring down at her stunned face flushing beautifully as she climaxed from his touch. It had happened so fast he hadn't considered where things were going until he was caught in a rush of momentum that carried her over the edge. But that didn't matter. It was bound to happen—probably meant to—and fighting it was useless.
She shuddered and closed her eyes, turning away from him. He caressed her brow with his thumb, then placed his head on her chest, his heart still thundering as he listened to the steady, quick beating of hers, his body raging with desire he knew instinctively from the beginning would not be fulfilled. He had yet to remove his fingers from between her legs and he could feel her wetness clinging to thin linen, warm and succulent, inviting him to enter and satisfy his pain. He wanted to touch her there with unbelievable need. Just a finger enveloped by hot, moist softness to last him until the next time. But it wouldn't happen now. Without question he knew it wouldn't happen now.
With agonizing acceptance, he lifted his hand and pulled her skirt down to cover her decently, wrapping his arm around her waist, holding her close to him. He inhaled deeply the scent of her skin and hair, relishing in the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips. He opened his eyes with resolve, restraint, gaining possession of his senses once more as he gazed out to the water now glimmering in growing nightfall.
She lay motionless, half beneath him, with onl
y her steady breathing to be heard. He said nothing, did nothing, just held her, allowing her to carry the mood as she slowly came to terms with all that had just taken place.
At last she inhaled sharply, and in the quiet night air whispered, "Why?"
It was a question filled with grief, and he knew what she meant. Not why now, why me, why did you. But why us?
"I don't know," he murmured after a moment of stillness, honesty rippling through his answer. "Sometimes it's … like this—"
Furiously she struggled from under him, moving quickly to all fours, then steadying herself so she could rise. He clung to her for a second, then let her go, following suit, unsure of her reaction until he stood next to her and she faced him fully. Quite suddenly she was shaking with rage, her face, both livid and so very vulnerable, reflecting a dull, shimmering glow from the final traces of daylight.
"You may do this kind of thing with women all the time, Jonathan, but it does not happen to me," she seethed, hands clenched at her sides.
He blinked, then felt himself pale as comprehension overtook him. "That's not what I meant—"
"Stop it!"
She covered her face with her hands, and just as quickly he grabbed her wrists and yanked her against him. She fought him, but he wouldn't let her go.
"That's not what I meant," he repeated soothingly. He waited, and finally she stopped struggling, shaking her head, eyes tightly shut. "Natalie, look at me."
She ignored him.
"Look at me," he said again urgently.
Reluctantly she relaxed and raised her lashes, glaring at him with huge, vibrant, furious eyes, clear as glass.
He took a long, slow breath, though still clutching her wrists in fear that she would run. "What happened between us just now has never happened to me before."
She gaped at him, appalled. "You're a blatant liar. You've been with so many—"
"Not like this," he broke in gently.
"But isn't it always the same?" she blurted sarcastically. "One woman or another—"
STOLEN CHARMS Page 10